


a new ocean, green

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 18:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18474289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: Angelo escapes Nacre and heads inland instead of choosing a new life at sea, and finds an unusual companion.





	a new ocean, green

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to maddie for betaing

 

When Angelo landed in Velas he’d scrambled ashore, looking over his shoulder as if Brandish was moments behind him. No one was. It would take them a while to work out that he’d left Nacre at all, thanks to a few well-placed spells and a not-insignificant amount of luck. He took a breath and disappeared as best he could into the sparsely-populated city.

 

Still, the ocean sounded too much like home. What should have been a comfort instead set him on edge, the sound of the waves against the shore bringing too many memories with it. So, he traded his finery for travelling supplies and set out. He’d be safer away from the ocean anyway, no one from Nacre would ever venture far inland.

 

The forest was strange. They had woodlands on Nacre, of course, but those were small, the trees sparse and hardened by the salt air. They were nothing like the thick, seemingly endless forests of Hieron, the twisting spiderweb of roads and paths leading him deeper and deeper towards the mountains. The air was cool in the forest, the thick trees overhead sheltering him from the summer sun, like entering the palace halls after a long day outside.

 

Angelo rested when he was tired and ate when he was hungry, glad to be free of the routine of courtly life even he did have to pull the fish from the river himself. He’d seen few people on his way out of town and he saw fewer still the further into the forest he went, only occasionally passing a halfling trading cart on it’s way from Twinbrooke.

 

One of them tried to sell him a overpriced oilskin coat, claiming that a summer storm would soon roll in. Angelo had laughed, at the time. Oilskins were surely only for sailors, and he wasn’t one of those anymore. With the trees so thick overhead, he’d have more than enough shelter.

 

Now, as water dripped annoyingly down his nose, he wished he’d taken them up on their offer, as ridiculous as it had been. The trees didn’t provide  _ quite _ as much protection as he’d thought.

 

He shook water out of his eyes, squinting through the rain. There was an outcropping ahead, with what looked like the entrance of a cave. He’d stay there until the rain stopped, and hopefully it would be out of the wind enough that he could dry out a little. 

 

The cave ran deep, a strange pink light flickering from deep within. He could hear something, or someone, moving around. Angelo stilled, straining to listen to the sound above the pounding rain and his own heartbeat.

 

It sounded like… humming. An old folk song, and a rather bawdy one at that. He laughed, a strange relief flooding through him.

 

The humming stopped. 

 

“Hello?” called a voice, echoing from below. “Who’s there?”

 

Angelo stayed quiet, careful not to move.

 

“Come on, I know  _ someone’s _ up there, making me think I’m imagining things is just  _ rude _ .”

 

“I didn’t want to intrude,” said Angelo, “I was just going to stay in here until the rain stops.”

 

“That’ll be  _ hours _ man, trust me. The birds have been saying it all day.”

 

“The… birds,” said Angelo.

 

“Yeah,  _ the birds _ ,” said the voice, sounding annoyed, “so are you just going to sulk around on my doorstep for hours or what?”

 

“I uh--” Thunder rolled overhead, shaking the ground under his feet, “I just need to stay here for a little while out of the rain.”

 

A figure poked its head out from down below, little more than a shadow distorted around the distant light. “No, I meant like, you can come down here, you know, where it’s actually dry.”

 

Angelo blinked. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” When Angelo paused, the figure gestured at him to come towards them. “Well, hurry up.”

 

Angelo glanced over his shoulder. It didn’t look like the rain would be letting up any time soon, dark thunderclouds rolling in over the grey sky. He took a deep breath, putting a hand on the sword under his cloak as he carefully made his way down.

 

The cave walls were covered in glittering pink gemstones, a well-worn path leading his way to the small opening in the wall. He ducked through it, coming out into a smaller but just as gem-covered room. A small, roughly-made wooden bed, table, and chair were the only items of furniture, a small fireplace in a hollow in the wall.

 

“You’re dripping all over my floor.”

 

Angelo looked up. A scruffy halfling stood in the doorway to another room, blanket in hand. He held it out to Angelo. Angelo looked at it for a moment and the halfling shook it.

 

“Here, take this so that you’re not making such a mess.”

 

“Right,” said Angelo, “Sorry.”

 

“That’s okay,” said the halfling, “So! What brings you into the forest?”

 

“Just, you know… travelling through.”

 

“Travelling from pretty far away I bet.”

 

Angelo looked up sharply, heart pounding, trying to calculate whether it would be possible for someone from Nacre to make it out in the forest before him.

 

The halfling laughed. “No need to give me that look man, you’re just not an orc. Pretty much the only travellers through here are orcs, y’know, because of the Archives being so close. That, or people trying to sell something to the Archives.”

 

“Maybe I’m doing that,” said Angelo.

 

“Nah,” said the halfling, “you don’t have enough with you for that. And if it was small and expensive you would have kept going through the rain,” He paused. “Listen, you know I don’t really care why you’re travelling, right? I’m just trying to make conversation, like you do with guests.” He paused again, tilting his head to the side. “Or, I think that’s what you’re supposed to do with guests. It’s been a while since I had any.”

 

Angelo tried to untense his shoulders. “Okay.”

 

“Now!” said the halfling, “d’you want anything to eat? I don’t have any food but I might have some tea around here somewhere…”

 

He bustled off to another small room, muttering to himself, leaving Angelo alone to drip onto the floor. He reappeared a moment later, carrying a dinged-up copper teapot and two clay mugs, setting the teapot over the fire.

 

“You’re still dripping.”

 

Angelo looked down at his feet, where water was seeping out of his shoes and onto the stone floor.

 

“Sorry,” said Angelo, “I uh-- I think I should probably just change clothes, if that’s alright with you.”

 

The halfling shrugged. “Sure, change whatever you want.”

 

Angelo looked around the small room. There wasn’t exactly much privacy.

 

“Uh, is it okay if I…?”

 

“If you…”

 

“Change. In the um. Other room,” said Angelo.

 

The halfling blinked. “Sure, I guess. The ceiling’s lower in there so you might have to crouch. I haven’t got around to making the ceiling higher.”

 

Angelo wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. He did have to duck into the other room, keeping low to stop his head from bumping into the ceiling. He changed as quickly as he could, glancing every so often at the open doorway. If the halfling was in any way curious, he didn’t show it, keeping his attention on stirring the tea as it began to boil.

 

The clothes he changed into were damp, but a lot more comfortable than the drenched clothes he had been wearing. He wrapped them in the blanket the halfling had given him to stop them from dripping on the floor.

 

"Here,” said the halfling, holding out the steaming mug to him.

 

Angelo awkwardly tucked the ball of wet material under his arm and reached for the mug. The halfling made a face.

 

“Oh for-- here.”

 

He held out a hand. Angelo looked at him.

 

He made a frustrated sound. “Give me you clothes and I can put them next to the fire.”

 

“Oh,” said Angelo, “Thank you.”

 

“Well, it’ll stop you making more mess,” said the halfling.

 

“Still,” said Angelo, “thank you.”

 

The halfling nodding, quickly taking the wet clothes from him and setting up a wooden frame in front of the fire, hanging the clothes over it. Angelo slowly sipped the tea, letting the warmth wash over him as he listened the sound of the rain echo down into the cave. He eyes slipped closed.

 

When he opened them again the fire was banked low. He rubbed a hand over his face, pulling himself more upright. The halfling was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Hello?” said Angelo hesitantly.

 

The halfling’s head poked out from the room he’d changed in earlier. “Ah! You’re awake! I was just about to go to sleep. That’s good. Means I can put the lamp out.”

 

Angelo rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes. I should probably get some sleep too. On purpose this time.”

 

The halfling let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Right!-- oh, uh, did you, uh, did you want the bed? I only have the one.”

 

The halfling’s bed was pushed into a corner of the room, halfling-sized in every way.

 

“No,” said Angelo, “I have a bedroll that’s a little-- that’s a bit better sized for me.”

 

The halfling shrugged. “Suit yourself!”

 

Angelo took out his (slightly damp) bedroll, lying it down as close to the fire as was probably safe. He lay down, struggling against the heaviness of his eyelids as he watched the halfling putter around for a moment before setting in his own bed.

 

“You know,” said Angelo, “I don’t even know your name.” 

 

“Oh! It’s Fero.” Fero rolled to the side of the bed, peering over at Angelo. “What’s yours?” 

 

“Prin-” Angelo stuttered to a stop. As far away as he felt from Nacre, giving his real name seemed ill-advised. He picked the first name he could think of, the name of the first person he’d met in Velas.

 

“Calhoun,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound too hesitant.

 

Fero nodded, and rolled back onto the bed. “Goodnight Calhoun.”

 

Angelo, now Calhoun, closed his eyes, trying to ignore the chill of the bedroll. “Goodnight Fero.” 

 

\--

 

He woke up disoriented, feeling something crawl towards him. He reached towards it, clumsily hitting out at it.

 

“Ow!”

 

Calhoun frowned. “Fero, what--”

 

“Your teeth chattering is keeping me awake,” said Fero, “I’m lighting the fire again.”

 

Now that he was more awake, Calhoun was aware of the goosebumps on his arms, the way his toes felt numb despite being tucked in the bedroll.

 

“Oh, I-- thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome,” said Fero.

 

The flint struck, the small flame slowly coaxed by Fero, slowly illuminating him. Calhoun felt the warm creep back into him, still shivering at the night air cool on his back.

 

Fero rolled his eyes. “Here, I’ll help.”

 

He stepped towards Calhoun, body shifting, warping before Calhoun’s eyes, until he was a tabby cat.

 

“What,” said Calhoun.

 

The cat rolled its shoulder in an approximation of a shrug, padding over to crawl inside his bedroll, warm against his side.

 

“ _ What _ ,” said Calhoun.

 

The cat patted at his side with his paw, claws withdrawn, looking up at him with Fero’s brown eyes.

 

“Right,” said Calhoun, running a hand through his hair, “Right, well, I’ll just lie down then.”

 

Fero yawned, stretching out to lie across his stomach. 

 

“Oh you  _ are _ warm,” said Calhoun.

 

Fero made a small sound that Calhoun took for agreement, kneading his chest a few times before he lay he head down to sleep.

 

“Goodnight Fero.”

 

Calhoun fell asleep, deep and peaceful and warm at last, Fero’s small body curled on his chest.

 

He awoke with a heavier weight on him than he’d fallen asleep to. It took his mind a moment to catch up to the sight in front of him. Fero was back in his halfling form, curled tight into his side, his face pressed against Calhoun’s chest, one leg slung over Calhoun’s body. At least it was a great deal warmer than when he’d first fallen asleep.

 

Fero made a soft sound in his sleep, burrowing his face into Calhoun’s chest. On the other hand, perhaps the bedroll was too hot now. Calhoun forced himself to look away from the curl of Fero’s eyelashes against his cheek.

 

Still, it was impossible to move without waking Fero, and that seemed like a rude way to repay his host. Calhoun let his eyes slip closed again, relaxing easily under the warmth of Fero’s body, listening to the soft sound of the rain outside.

 

When he awoke again he was alone, although still warm thanks to the fire beside him. A pot of something bubbled over the stove, the smell of it heavy in the air and reminding Calhoun of how long it had been since he had last eaten. His stomach growled.

 

He heard Fero’s sharp laughter behind him. Fero’s hair was damp, the tip of his nose red with cold. Now that Calhoun was more awake, he could the the trail of wet footsteps leading from the cave door.

 

“Your stomach kept growling in your sleep,” said Fero.

 

“You went out?” Calhoun looked towards the cave entrance, where he could just see a sliver of the heavy grey clouds through the haze of rain.

 

Fero shrugged. “I didn’t have any food in here. Unless you eat rocks and feathers -  _ do _ you eat rocks and feathers?”

 

Calhoun shook his head.

 

“Just checking,” said Fero, “Although I guess if you did I’d need to go out and get more of those.”

 

He stepped closer to the fire, stirring the pot a few times before he nodded to himself.

 

“It’s done.” Fero paused. “I think. It’s been a while since I cooked… well, anything, I guess.”

 

He got out a single clay bowl, spooning out some and handing it to Calhoun. It smelt of fish and lemon, reminding him of the simple food people would cook on the beaches of Nacre as they fished. He pushed aside the sharp ache in his chest as he took the first bite, his hunger quickly distracting him from continuing down the train of thought. He was about half-way through the bowl when he realised Fero hadn’t served any for himself, instead busying himself with whittling something from a stick.

 

Calhoun cleared his throat. “Sorry, did you… want some?”

 

“Nah,” said Fero, the whittling knife cutting through the air as he gestured, “I don’t eat.”

 

Calhoun frowned. “You don’t eat fish?”

 

“No. Well, yeah, but also, like, anything else,” said Fero, “or I don’t have to, anyway. I haven’t eaten anything in a long time, I sort of forgot about it until your stomach started making such a racket.” He paused. “I got some blackberries too, if you want them. Usually the crows get to them but I think the storm kept them away today.”

 

As if on cue, thunder rumbled over them, the sound vibrating through the mountain. Calhoun flinched, the sound bringing memories of battling storms at sea but especially the last such storm that had raged on his way out of Nacre, as though the very ocean itself was trying to stop him.

 

Fero eyed him curiously. “No storms where you’re from?”

 

“We had storms like you wouldn’t believe,” said Calhoun, “I just didn’t think they would have followed me here.”

 

Calhoun ate the rest of his meal in silence, trying his best to ignore the waves of memories brought in by the storm. Fishing with Brandish off of the side of the jetty. Trading looks with Adelaide across boring dinners. His father teaching him to sail.

 

Fero reached across the table and took three blackberries, chewing them loudly and breaking Calhoun’s out of his memories.

 

“I thought you didn’t eat?”

 

“Just wanted to check if I still could,” said Fero, around a mouthful of berries. He swallowed. “And I can!”

 

He grinned at Calhoun, his lips stained red with the berries. Calhoun managed a smile back.

 

His bedroll still felt damp when he lay down. Calhoun suppressed a shiver but not well enough to hide it from Fero. Calhoun opened his mouth to say something - he was fine, really, he’d slept in worse conditions - but Fero was already a cat.

 

“You really don’t have to do this,” said Calhoun.

 

Fero wound around his legs, purring loudly.

 

Calhoun huffed a laugh. “Well, if you insist.”

 

Fero let out a small meow, batting at Calhoun’s boot before padding over to his bedroll. He curled up on one side, then cracked one eye open, watching Calhoun.

 

“I suppose this is your way of telling me to hurry up,” said Calhoun, “Alright.”

 

He pulled off his boots and belt, trying to slide in beside Fero without disturbing him. Fero sat up, stretched, and then climbed into his lap.

 

“Making yourself at home?” said Calhoun, trying to lie down without unsettling Fero from his spot.

 

Fero chirped a small meow, and then wriggled his way under Calhoun’s shirt. Calhoun yelped at prickle of claws, but they were hurriedly withdraw, with what Calhoun took to be an apologetic meow from Fero.

 

“Well,” said Calhoun, “goodnight?”

 

Fero rubbed his face on Calhoun’s chest, wriggling again for a moment before settling down with a satisfied huff of breath. Calhoun could full the rumble of Fero’s purrs through his chest, warmth seeping through him from Fero’s small cat body.

 

This time, it was easy to fall asleep.

 

The morning felt warm too, not least because Calhoun woke with Fero back in his halfling form, half-tangled in Calhoun’s shirt. Like with the morning before, Calhoun wasn’t sure how to move without waking him, and so he lay there, feeling more relaxed than he should have, listening to the sounds of the forest echoing down from above.

 

The forest seemed quieter, and it took Calhoun a moment to pinpoint why - there was no sound of rain, no sudden boom of thunder, no drips echoing through the cave. The storm had passed, and with it went his reason for staying longer in Fero’s cave with him.

 

Calhoun’s chest felt tight, and he told himself it was just the unsteadiness of travelling through a strange land.

 

Fero yawned awake, stretching, his movements like a cat, tiny nails catching on the fabric of Calhoun’s shirt. He blinked up at Calhoun, his movements slow and sleepy.

 

“The rain’s letting up,” says Calhoun.

 

Fero hummed. “Good foraging weather.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“Yeah,” said Fero, “I always find interesting stuff after it rains.” He paused. “I could take you around for a bit if you want.”

 

“I… yeah,” said Calhoun, “that sounds good. If it’s not taking up too much of your time.”

 

Fero grinned. “I got nothing  _ but _ time!”

 

Calhoun smiled back.

 

He could learn the lay of the land this way, he told himself, and it would be difficult to travel while everything was still soaked from the storm anyway. Staying longer with Fero was only practical.

 

It had nothing to do with the slow warmth he felt under Fero smile. Nothing at all.

 

Fero pulled Calhoun out of the cave into the damp forest, jumping ahead and spinning around to keep talking to Calhoun as he walked backwards, easily stepping over fallen branches and twisting tree roots as though he memorised their locations. It was quite possible he had, he seemed to know every tree in the forest in intimate detail.

 

Occasionally he would stop, plucking fruit from trees or digging roots and vegetables from the ground seemingly at random. Calhoun wondered if he had planted them or if he could somehow sense their locations, guided to them by a force Calhoun could only guess at. Either seemed possible.

 

He talked loudly, although Calhoun wasn’t sure if it was in an effort to be heard from his low height or just from lack of recent experience talking to another person.

 

“And this is one of the new ones,” said Fero, patting the leaves of a young tree, “came up a couple seasons ago, but they’re doing okay.”

 

Calhoun eyed the tree. Although it had not yet reached the height of its neighbours, it stretched high above their heads.

 

“It must be a fast grower,” said Calhoun.

 

“Yeah,” said Fero, nodding. He tilted his head back, squinting at the top of the tree. “Well. Maybe it’s been more than a couple seasons. I guess I think of everything that arrived after me as new.”

 

“You must have been here a while,” said Calhoun, looking up at the tree.

 

Fero shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

 

Calhoun shot him a sidelong look. “Where were you before?”

 

“Where were  _ you _ before?” said Fero.

 

“I… it’s complicated.”

 

Fero snorted. “Sure.”

 

“Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to-”

 

“Wow,  _ thanks _ .” Fero was silent for a moment, glaring up at the tree. “I’m gonna head back.”

 

“I… okay.”

 

Calhoun followed him. Their footsteps seemed very loud, now that the sound wasn’t covered by Fero’s running commentary. 

 

The sun was setting by the time they got back to Fero’s cave, a chill returning to the air. Calhoun shivered. Fero rolled his eyes, disappearing into one of the cave’s smaller side rooms before reappearing with a blanket.

 

“Here.”

 

Calhoun hesitantly took it. “Thanks.”

 

Fero huffed a breath. “Whatever. Just because you’re a jerk doesn’t mean you deserve to freeze.”

 

Calhoun pulled the blanket tight around himself, watching as Fero lit the fire.

 

“Listen, Fero… Earlier, I meant no offence,” said Calhoun slowly, “I was just… I’m curious about you. I admit to having a somewhat sheltered life but I’ve never… I’ve never met anyone like you.”

 

Fero stilled, the back of his neck flushing pink. “Oh.”

 

“You don’t have to share with me anything you would rather not,” continued Calhoun. “You have been more than generous already.”

 

Fero nodded, and Calhoun could see his throat working as he swallowed.

 

“I think I have the right things for carrot stew,” said Fero.

 

Calhoun smiled. “That sounds lovely.”

 

The cave was soon filled with the warm smell of cooking. Fero sniffed the air over the pot, humming in satisfaction as he settled the lid back on.

 

“Should only be a few more minutes,” said Fero, hopping up into the seat opposite Calhoun.

 

Calhoun nodded, resettling the blanket around him. The cave was warm enough now that he didn’t really need it, but he was so comfortable.

 

Fero cleared his throat. “Rosemerrow.” 

 

Calhoun looked up sharply. “What?”

 

“Rosemerrow is where I was, before I was here,” said Fero, haltingly. “It sucked so I left, when I was… I left a long time ago. I’m not really from there any more.”

 

Calhoun let out a quiet breath, as though Fero were a wild animal, easily startled. He swallowed.

 

“I… I left the place I’m from too,” said Calhoun, “It… I can’t go back, even if I wanted to, it’s…” his hands tightened in the blanket. “I can’t go back.”

 

Fero nodded. “Hey, sometimes places just suck. The good news is, now you get to find a better place. You just keep walking until you find it. I mean, that’s what I did.”

 

The pot whistled and Fero hopped up, taking it off the fire, his face momentarily clouded by steam, leaving his face flushed.

 

They ate in companionable silence - well, Calhoun ate, Fero sipped slowly on a mug of tea. The stew was warm and filling, and Calhoun felt his eyes begin to slip closed, the fire burning lower and lower between his slow blinks.

 

Fero poked him in the side. “Bed. Before you fall off the chair.”

 

Calhoun huffed a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Right.”

 

He lay down, flipping part of the covers back for Fero without really even thinking about it until he felt Fero’s hesitation.

 

Calhoun’s eye widened. “Oh. Uh. You don’t have to-”

 

Fero tilted his head to the side. “No, it’s… it’s fine. I would have thought you’d be warm enough by now, but…”

 

Calhoun felt his cheeks flush hotly, but Fero turned into a cat before he had a chance to respond. His claws prickled Calhoun’s side for a moment as he got comfortable, stretching out across Calhoun’s chest and stomach.

 

“Uh. As long as you don’t mind, I guess,” said Calhoun.

 

Fero blinked slowly at him, contented, and settled down to sleep. Calhoun slid into sleep after him, his mind following Fero’s purring breaths.

 

He slid out of sleep in the same, slow way, only this time, Fero was awake, looking up at him with wide eyes. Fero was lying in the same position that they had fallen asleep, his halfling body much large and warmer than his cat self had been. Fero’s breath caught in his throat as their eyes met.

 

“Oh,” said Fero, “good morning.”

 

“Morning,” said Calhoun, voice quiet.

 

Fero twitched, and Calhoun could feel the tension of it through his whole body. They breathed the same air for a moment, breath hot on each other’s lips.

 

Calhoun leant forward and pressed his lips to Fero’s, quick and without thought, as easy as stealing a boat in Nacre.

 

Fero sank into the kiss immediately, his hands trailing along Calhoun’s shoulders to tangle in his hair, keeping him pulled close. Calhoun let his hands do the same, roaming along as much of Fero’s body as he could reach, lingering when he found a spot that made Fero gasp into his mouth. Fero wriggled, his hands finding the hem of Calhoun’s shirt, tugging at it, Fero’s skin hot on his.

 

“Wait,” said Calhoun, leaning away as best he could, “Wait, I have to tell you something.”

 

Fero hummed, kissing a line along Calhoun’s jaw. “Okay.”

 

Calhoun let himself get swept up in the moment, arching under Fero’s touch before he can gather enough thoughts together to form words.

 

“No really, I need to tell you-- I’m, I’m not from here.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” said Fero.

 

“No I mean, I’m  _ really  _ not from here,” said Calhoun, “I’m from Nacre.”

 

Fero blinked at him. “Okay…?”

 

“Narce?” said Calhoun, “The city of legend? The city of story and song?”

 

Fero shrugged. “If you say so. History wasn’t really must best subject.”

 

“And another thing-”

 

Fero made a frustrated noise. “If you don’t  _ want _ to do this you can just say so.”

 

“No I-- I want you to know before we…”

 

Fero’s grin was sharp and Calhoun felt a streak of blushing heat run through him.

 

“Anyway, I… My name’s not Caloun, it’s Angelo, and I’m sort of… a prince.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I am!”

 

“No, sure, okay, you’re a prince,” said Fero, “I don’t see what that has to do with what we’re doing right now.”

 

“That’s not… I just wanted to be honest with you.”

 

Fero’s face softened. “Oh. Well. Okay then, Prince Angelo-Calhoun.” He leant in closer. “So you being a prince…”

 

“Yes?”

 

Fero’s lips brushed his. “Does that mean I need to get royal permission for this kind of thing?”

 

“I um.” Calhoun swallowed. “No. Not for runaway princes, at least.”

 

He could feel Fero smile. “Good.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
